


Swing Set

by PadfootIsMyHomeDawg



Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Boys Kissing, Cutting, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Language, M/M, Open Ending, Romance, Slash, TARDIS - Freeform, attempted suicide, post-GoF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7381165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadfootIsMyHomeDawg/pseuds/PadfootIsMyHomeDawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Little Whinging, Surrey, 1995 June 21.” Donna doesn’t understand why the TARDIS’ destination is so important, but clearly the Doctor does when he tears off and down the street like a bat out of hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swing Set

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to take a bit of a break from Parsel, and in searching for inspiration, I found Taking Advantage by BC on the 'other site'. (It's awesome - go check it out!) I thought it was pretty great, and I had to write a version of it myself, so you'll recognize similarities if you've read that one before, but no plagiarism is intended! :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

"What's going on?"

The muttered words caught Donna's attention – it wasn't often that the Doctor was confused in his own TARDIS. Usually it was just when he was confronted with a new alien species – or one he didn't know about, or when he didn't know their agenda, or why they still existed when he thought them extinct…

Anyway. It would hardly be in a time when they had no set destination in mind; no pressing matters at hand that called for their immediate attention. The Doctor had just begun to put the coordinates in for their next random destination when he asked himself the odd question.

"What – what is it?" Donna demanded. "What's wrong?"

The lights and pumps began moving, showing that they were in travel, while the Doctor still had a dumbfounded look of stupefaction upon his face.

"Nothing's – _wrong_ , exactly…" the Doctor trailed off, before murmuring as though to himself, "Where are you taking us, old girl?"

When the lights stopped blinking and the engine stopped working, showing that the TARDIS had taken them where they needed to be, the Doctor looked at the final destination point – and abruptly he was intensely focused. Donna opened her mouth to ask him what was going on, but before she could get a word out, the Doctor was gone out the door, tearing out of there like a bat out of hell.

Curiously, Donna stepped forward to look at the coordinates that had got the man so abruptly serious. Ideas flashed through her mind – an alien invasion on a planet outside the solar system, or perhaps the attempted destruction of Earth by a man the Doctor knew personally.

What she didn't expect were the perfectly normal words in front of her – _Little Whinging, Surrey, 1995 June 21_.

…

Harry Potter stared at the razor in his hand, the one he'd stolen from Uncle Vernon's trash can when he'd been cleaning the master bathroom earlier that morning. It was old – his uncle had just bought a new one, and wouldn't miss this one. The man had been gone, anyway – would be until later tonight. No one would be able to save him – not until it was too late.

It had been rather disgustingly easy to shake whoever was following and watching him. He'd found that there was a five minute lull in the switching of watchers, and had left the house as soon as he heard the telltale crack of Apparition. He knew that eventually he would be found, but not for a while yet. They thought he was still in the house, after all. They wouldn't check the park for a while. He wasn't even sure whether they were friend or foe, but it didn't matter. Either one would stop him – friend because they needed him to fight Voldemort, and foe because they wanted Voldemort to play with (read: torture) him for a while before giving him the sweet release of death.

He clenched his hand slightly on the razor, drawing blood, allowing the pain to bring his brain into focus. It was too dull for shaving, but it would suit his purposes fine.

He just couldn't handle it anymore. Cedric was killed, and Voldemort was alive, and it was all his fault. He knew that the Wizarding World didn't believe that Voldemort was back – if they did, there would have been _something_ on the news that gave a clue about it, but clearly Fudge hadn't told the Muggles anything about the returned danger they now faced. The sheep of the Wizarding World would follow the Ministry's lead, and he would be branded a liar.

It was doubly painful that he hadn't heard anything from his friends – even Sirius, whom he would've expected would understand needing to know information to keep him from going crazy. All he got was the same thing every time – "lay low", "don't do anything rash"…it was enough to make him pull his own hair out.

Well, the Wizarding World could go fuck itself. They had held him up for years as their Savior, but at the first sign of trouble they turned their backs on him. He had no expectations of it getting any better – the same thing had happened in his second year. They could deal with the Voldemort problem themselves.

There was a bit of guilt at leaving his friends to the mercies of Voldemort, but he knew he was going to die anyway, and Voldemort would win – so why prolong the inevitable? Maybe the realization that they had no one to save them would get the Wizarding World off their arses and fight for their own freedom. Harry doubted it.

And…he would see his parents again. Although they might hate him for his failure, he knew he would always love them. The way he saw it, death on his own terms was the only way out for him.

He took a deep, cleansing breath, and abruptly his mind was cleared, focused only on the razor as he brought it to his forearm. This was the easiest, most painless death he could think of. And after making the final decision to die, he wasn't afraid anymore.

The razor had just made its first stroke across his forearm when an arm abruptly encircled his chest, pulling him quickly backwards and off the swing. The razor flew out of his hand, landing in the wood chips a couple of feet away from where he landed, and the swing he'd been sitting on a moment before swung crazily at the abrupt movement of taking all the weight off of it.

His eyes found the person who had interrupted him, expecting one of the watchers – friend, most likely, because they hadn't stopped him with a painful curse – and instead found someone who looked quite familiar.

Although – that was impossible. Barty Crouch Jr. had been Kissed not even a month before. And surely if it _had_ been the man who had orchestrated Voldemort's rebirth, he wouldn't have "saved" him in such a painless way.

Upon closer inspection, however, he noticed some differences from the Death Eater who'd taught him all year. For one, this man was dressed completely Muggle – though admittedly a bit strange, it was not enough to cause him suspicion in the Muggle world. Hardly anyone wore a pinstripe suit with bright red Converse – no one, really, if he thought about it – though he somehow made it work for him. His hair was also different, more on top of his head than on the sides like he'd seen in the brief moments with the un-Polyjuiced Crouch Jr, and he was a bit thinner. But it was the eyes that convinced him – Crouch's had been dark, evil, and with the desire to inflict pain on anyone who looked at him wrong. This man's eyes looked like Sirius' – a bit haunted, like he'd seen too much, but with a mischievous twinkle that could never really be taken completely away.

Now the man was looking at him a bit sadly – but with a spark of hope in his eyes.

"Good afternoon," the man greeted, as though he hadn't just stopped him from committing a bloody suicide. He sat up straight, but remained sitting on the ground. "I'm the Doctor."

"I didn't ask," Harry said, fighting to keep his tears of frustration at bay. He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest defensively.

"Oh, that's alright!" the Doctor said brightly. "At least now you know what to call me!"

"Why did you stop me?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. It seemed that if he let the man go on, he would continue on babbling without bothering to get to the point. Even with the few words he'd said so far, it was the _way_ that he said them that seemed to say that he wouldn't mind going on and on until someone stopped him.

Something he couldn't identify flickered across the man's face, but it didn't seem to be anything… _bad_ , he supposed. More – sad. Wistful.

But then it was gone and the man was beaming at him again. "Such a waste it would be, to take your life so nilly-willy! Humans are fun and interesting and _exciting_ , but you're not going to ever be able to see that if you're gone before your time!"

"Humans," Harry said disbelievingly, and then scoffed. "So, what – you're an alien, then?"

"You've got it in one!" the Doctor cheered, as though it was perfectly normal to claim alien status to someone he'd just met.

"Right," Harry said doubtfully. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd just leave me to my own thoughts, E.T."

"Of course!" the Doctor agreed, and remained sitting where he was, looking up at the sky. Harry stared at him for several moments before the older man looked back down at him with an expression of what he was certain was completely false surprise.

"Oh, you wanted me to _leave_ , then?" he exclaimed. At Harry's slightly hesitant nod, he said, "Well, why didn't you say so?" He jumped to his feet with ease and turned as though to walk away, before abruptly turning back to look at Harry, still sitting on the ground.

"Almost forgot – I don't suppose you've time-traveled before, have you?" he said with an all too knowing look.

Harry scrambled to his feet, keeping himself a good distance away from the other man. He didn't know what he wanted or how he seemed to know about the time travel last year, but certainly he shouldn't be trusted. Surely this man was a wizard, maybe even from the Ministry, and he was trying to get him in trouble. All they needed now was an excuse to throw him in Azkaban, and his word about Voldemort's return could be officially discredited and swept under the rug.

"No, of course I haven't!" he blurted out quickly. "That's illegal!"

" _Well_ , maybe for your people's rules, but not for mine!" the Doctor said brightly. Harry vaguely wondered what he was supposed to be the doctor _of_ – didn't wizards call them Healers?

"What do you mean, _my_ 'people' – and _your_ 'people'?" Harry demanded, hand going to his wand in his back pocket – which was somehow miraculously unbroken even after his fall to the ground – but he didn't pull it out. Maybe this man was just crazy, he thought somewhat hopefully. Just a crazy Muggle. And if he used magic in front of him, that would be all the more reason for the Ministry to come down on him for magic use outside of school.

"Well, the wizards and witches, of course!" the man said brightly once more, seemingly unconcerned. "You, that is. _I'm_ a Time Lord, so it would be a bit crazy for time travel to be illegal for us!"

"Time Lord," Harry repeated disbelievingly, hardly noting that the man knew about witches and wizards.

"Right-o!" the Doctor agreed. "How do you think I knew _exactly_ where to find you?"

"Where to find…" Harry cut himself off, finally bringing up his wand to point at the man's chest in a quick move. "You're a Death Eater, then?" he demanded, though it wasn't really a question by this point, sure as he was. Why on earth he thought Harry might believe some "Time Lord" crap, he had no idea. Voldemort couldn't be _that_ desperate – he'd only just risen! He'd be cocky right now – in fact, he _knew_ he was, with the constant barrage of dreams he had about him…dreams he was sure weren't mere dreams by this point.

The Doctor looked unconcerned with the wand pointed at him, though he did put his hands up to show he was unarmed. Or at least to make him think he was.

"Nope – not a Death Eater," he said calmly. "Truly, honestly, just a Time Lord. But I do know all about you, of course. How could I not?"

" _Everyone_ – thinks they know all about me," Harry gritted out, tightening his grip on his wand and mentally reviewing his arsenal of spells. "But no one knows _anything_ real."

"I know your favorite dessert is treacle tart," the Doctor piped up. Harry blinked, brain stuttering for a moment. How – _how_ could he know that? A small few knew that – Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Professor Lupin – but no one else ever commented on it, not even Ron. And why would they tell this strange man calling himself "The Doctor"? He was sure they had never met him – they would've said something about a crazy man thinking himself a "Time Lord". Surely it was a lucky guess.

"I know you don't like eggs, either," the Doctor went on, seeing the doubt on his face. "You've never liked how they're killed before they ever had the chance to live. But, you have no problem with regular chickens being eaten – it's the way of life, after all."

Okay. Now this was just getting weird. _How_ could he know that? He'd never told that to anyone else, he was certain. It was weird, because most people didn't think like that, and why give someone anymore reason to think he was more peculiar than they already did? So why would he tell this "Doctor"?

"You never cross your ankle over your knee when you tie your shoelaces, either," he continued, seeing Harry beginning to believe him. "Don't like the way they turn out all wonky on the sides, so you bend over when tying them, to make sure the ties are in the middle."

"How do you _know_ all that?" Harry demanded, his aim with his wand faltering even as his voice broke slightly. Reaffirming his aim, he said in a stronger voice that somehow came out as pleading rather than challenging, "How do you _know_ me?"

"I _told_ you, I'm a Time Lord," the Doctor said patiently. "I am a part of your future, as much as you are a part of mine."

"I…I have a future?" his voice broke again, and he seemed to have forgotten the wand still pointed at the older man. "How…?"

"The first time _I_ might you, I was much younger than I am now," the Doctor informed him. He snorted. "Gave me a right scare you did, when you knew all about me then and I hadn't a clue who you were. I suppose turnabout's fair play, and this is why you'll be laughing when you meet me later on."

"But if…if you know the future, then – how does the war end?" Harry said desperately, now that he had a well of information in front of him that he could just know if the man deigned to tell him. "Is there even a _point_ in me fighting?"

"Harry Potter, there is _always_ a point in fighting for what you believe in," the Doctor said earnestly. "If you believe nothing else I've said, believe _that_."

"But do we _win_?" Harry insisted desperately. "You know what happens – just tell me!"

The Doctor sighed. "I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly – it may cause problems with the fixed points in your time stream, creating a paradox that we really can't deal with."

"'Fixed points'?!" Harry cried, dropping his wand to run his hand through his hair in frustration. "Is that something real, or some bullshit you just made up on the spot because you have no idea?!"

"Harry, what if you lost?" the Doctor suggested. "And I told you that you lost, so you end up dying when you shouldn't have? What if it only caused more deaths in the end because you lost hope?"

"Then I'm no worse off than I am _now_!" Harry retorted.

"And what if you won?" the Doctor continued like he hadn't spoken. "And because I _told_ you that you won, you went in confidently where you shouldn't have, and you died and the war was lost?"

Harry swallowed. No – he didn't want to believe that. He just wanted to know why he shouldn't just give up now. At least if he knew that they won, he would have some hope for the end.

"You see? I can't tell you, or it could mess _everything_ up," the Doctor said, his voice becoming slightly distressed and sad.

"I can't…but _why_?" Harry said desperately. "Why should I have to risk _everything_ for something that might not even happen? It's great and all that I'm apparently your friend in the future, but that's not _enough_. It _can't_ be. I can't let everyone die and know that I could've stopped it if I just knew _something_."

"Harry, all I can tell you is that yes – there will be dark times," the Doctor said sadly and solemnly. "And I know that you will be desperate once again in those times, wondering if it's all really worth it, but I can _promise_ you that it's _always_ worth it. In the end you _will_ be alright."

"That's not _enough_!" Harry cried. " _Please_ – just _stop_ dancing around the subject, and _give me a reason_ I should go on like this!"

For the first time since meeting him, the Doctor looked uncertain. His eyebrows scrunched just slightly, and Harry could tell that he was chewing on the inside of his lower lip. He eyed Harry a bit warily, a considering expression on his face.

Harry allowed himself to get hopeful. Maybe the Doctor would tell him something after all, even though he'd looked pretty resolute moments before, if not a bit regretful. He hadn't thought that he would accede to his pleas, but his resolve and determination must have just been a mask he put on to try and deter Harry from begging. But if he could find out if it was worth it to go on fighting, he would get on his knees and beg for answers from the one man who apparently knew them all.

"Don't panic," the Doctor warned, taking the tiniest step closer to him.

"I won't," Harry promised mindlessly, only caring for answers. The Doctor pursed his lips, taking in a quick breath.

This was it. He'd find out how the world turned out. He'd know the benefits and costs of fighting. It might be a bit frightening – why else would the doctor tell him not to panic? – but he was certain he could handle it. What he learned now would shape how he would respond in this war – he could save lives with this information. He wasn't…

Suddenly his mouth was covered by a curiously soft dampness, cutting off his whirling thoughts. It was a moment before he realized that the Doctor had stepped closer to him, hands holding onto his shoulders to keep him in place while their lips touched.

Abruptly he realized that the older man was kissing him – and he'd never been kissed before. This older man who bore more than a passing resemblance to a now soulless Death Eater – was _kissing him_.

He flung himself away from the man, tearing himself from his grasp and backing away quickly, being forced to stop when his back pressed against the support beams of the swing set. Eyes wide, he tightened his grip on his wand, but didn't point it at the other man again.

"That's it, then?" he demanded, his voice slightly hoarse. He hardly noticed that the Doctor didn't look at all surprised at his reaction – not even worried, but like he was simply waiting out the storm of his words. "You want me to believe that we have – _something_ – going on some time in my future, so I can go out there to die?! I'm not even gay!"

"Harry," the Doctor started, but Harry didn't let him finish.

"No!" he cried. "That's not _anything_! – it doesn't even tell me that I'll be _sane_ in my future, because I would never…!"

He was the one cut off this time – not with words, but again with lips pressing to his own. He tried breaking away again, but the hands were on the sides of his head now, holding him in place, and the support beams were still behind him.

It was…odd, he realized, his struggles slowly coming to a halt. Wet, curious – unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The other man's lips were soft, and telling in the way they moved with familiarity against Harry's lips. But it was nice, he concluded, deciding that he'd have to reevaluate his sexual preference.

With this thought, he opened his mouth wider, tentatively, sighing with something like pleasure as the Doctor's hands grew gentle, no longer holding him in place but simply…there. It was wet, and it was arousing, and even though the Doctor was clearly very familiar with the map of his mouth, he was unbothered with his own inexperience. It was licentious, and wrong, and this man was so much older, but he abruptly decided that he didn't care. Not when it felt so good.

Much too soon, their lips parted, and the Doctor rested his forehead against Harry's, eyes closed. Harry hadn't even realized that he'd somehow dropped his wand to the ground next to him, and his hands now rested on either side of the other man's waist. He opened his eyes, green meeting brown, and he couldn't fail to notice the love and tenderness in the other's eyes. If there had been any lingering doubt about the truthfulness of his words, it faded in that instant. No one could fake that look.

"Remember this as my promise, Harry," the Doctor whispered, his voice wistful in a way that made him happy and sad all at once. "I _promise_ you, that you will be alright. In any moments like you had a bit ago, just remember that you _do_ have something to look forward to, and you _will_ be happy. There will be dark times in the war – that's inevitable in _any_ battle – but _you_ , Harry, will be just fine."

"Alright," Harry whispered at last. And he finally let himself feel hope.

…

Donna looked up when the Doctor walked leisurely back into the TARDIS, eyes down and clearly lost in thought. He closed the door behind him, and walked up to the controls, but didn't do anything to them, simply staring down at them.

"Well, Doctor, I didn't know you had any sort of romantic figure in your life!" Donna commented.

"Hm," the Doctor hummed in acknowledgement. "I wouldn't have expected you to stay in here after I rushed out so quickly."

"Oh, I didn't," Donna replied honestly, confirming his words. "Chased after you for a bit, and finally caught up to you at the park where I saw you kissing that boy. Figured you had everything handled and made my way back." Without giving him time to process this or respond to it, she went on, "So who is he? What makes him so important?"

The Doctor finally looked up and gave her a smile. "Harry is the most important person in my life," he explained simply, and looked back down at his hand. "He's more special than I could ever hope to explain in my thousand years of existence."

Donna followed his gaze down to his hand, and for once – the simple gold band around his left ring finger made sense.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand, I'll leave it right there. I'll say now that I have no intention of making a full story out of this – I'm not confident enough with the sci-fi genre to deal with more of a Doctor Who aspect to it. And this way, their future can be left to your imagination. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
